


Kaleidoscope

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Flogging, Lingerie, M/M, Steter Week 2018, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Peter buys Stiles a gift that mixes his two greatest loves - Star Wars and kink.-For Day 8 of Steter Week -free day





	Kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HDHale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDHale/gifts).



> Inspired by the gorgeous moodboard made by [HDHale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDHale/pseuds/HDHale) which can be found [here](http://hd-hale.tumblr.com/post/176276582499/ill-eat-you-up-i-love-you-so-sugar-daddybaby) Thank you so much for letting me run with this and for all your support, it was a lot of fun!
> 
> -
> 
> "Kaleidoscope" is derived from the Ancient Greek καλός (kalos), "beautiful, beauty", εἶδος (eidos), "that which is seen: form, shape" and σκοπέω (skopeō), "to look to, to examine", hence "observation of beautiful forms."

_I have a gift for you._

Peter sends the text and smiles to himself, knowing the exact reaction Stiles will have when he reads it. Flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, chewing on his lip in anticipation. It’s beautiful.

_Thank you, Daddy._

A pleased smile spreads over Peter’s lips. Such a good boy. Peter’s taught him that gratitude will get him so much further than demanding. Peter would literally give him the moon so long as he wasn’t a brat about it and showed his appreciation accordingly.

_Anything for you. You’re my darling. You can come and get it so long as you dress pretty for me._

The response it practically instantaneous.

_Picking out an outfit now._

Peter places his phone aside, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his body. Stiles getting all dressed up just for him. It gives him such a thrill. He never thought he’d get this lucky, that he’d find somebody to share this with, somebody who understands him and what he has to offer, who compliments it perfectly. He and Stiles are two sides of the same coin.

Stiles has his own key, so when he arrives later he lets himself in, allowing Peter to look effortless and commanding from his place on the couch. Stiles steps into the room and Peter can see that he’s slipping into that headspace already. It happens as soon as he steps through the door now and Peter loves him for it. Stiles, of all the people Peter has ever met, needs a safe space, somewhere he can switch off, somewhere he can be taken care of. Peter is forever touched that Stiles has chosen to trust him with that. The money helped but it only got them so far. What they have now goes so much deeper than that.

“Well hello there, beautiful,” Peter says smoothly, not keeping the hunger out of his gaze.

Stiles bows his head without even realising he’s doing it, looking up at Peter through his eyelashes. “Hi.”

Peter holds out a hand, beckoning him over. “Let me see you.”

Stiles approaches, taking Peter’s outstretched hand as soon as he’s close enough, letting himself be guided to stand between Peter’s legs. When Peter lets go, Stiles puts his hands by his sides, waiting. He’s wearing chinos, a graphic T-shirt and red plaid, but Peter knows that’s not all he’s wearing. He sits forward, lifting the hem of his shirt upwards, and he can already see the lace of a garter belt peeking out above his waistband. This boy is too perfect.

Peter can feel his body respond, blood getting hotter, as he traces the trim of lace with a single finger. Stiles sucks his stomach in but he tries his best not to squirm. He has to let Daddy look at him. He’s so good about handing himself over, about not being ashamed of it. Peter couldn’t be prouder.

He still remembers that first fancy box containing lace panties that Peter had presented him with. Stiles had frowned, his cheeks aflame.

“This is girls’ underwear,” he’d said.

“No it’s not, it’s yours,” Peter said simply. “I know because I bought it for you.” He reached over Stiles’ shoulder, picking them up between his fingers. “And as you can see, they’re specially made to be accommodating of that lovely cock. I think they’ll fit you perfectly.” He tilted Stiles’ face up to look at him. “May I put them on you?”

Stiles knew that he could say no. He had a safeword for if things got really intense, but he could also walk out of that door anytime that he wanted and Peter wouldn’t go after him. He’d want to, but he wouldn’t. Stiles had declined to give Peter a blowjob when they were watching a movie once because he didn’t want to miss what was happening. He turned his nose up at fucking in Peter’s private backyard and told him it was the bed or nothing, he was tired from college, Peter could take it or leave it. Peter took and he never regretted a thing.

So Peter felt confident that Stiles would turn him down if this was really a hard limit. He could see the curiosity in his eyes though before he gave a shrug.

“Sure.”

Peter stripped him of his clothes, helping him step into the panties, pulling them up his legs. He reached inside, adjusting his half-hard cock for him so that they sat right, before stepping back to appraise him. He could feel the insecurity radiating off Stiles, needy and vulnerable.

“Not for girls,” Peter said, taking in the sight. “They’re just beautiful things for beautiful creatures.” He lifted his eyes to meet Stiles’ gaze. “And you are the most beautiful creature I know.”

Stiles smiled, looking at Peter with something as close to love as he’d ever seen. He allowed Peter to guide him to the bed and spend the next hour proving just how beautiful he was in those panties. He was thoroughly convinced by the time Peter pulled them off with his teeth.

Peter bought him lots of lingerie after that. Some of it Stiles rejected as soon as he saw it, some of it he tried on but decided he didn’t like, and some of it he loved as much as Peter did. Those pieces got their own dedicated drawer in Peter’s bedroom for when they decided to play dress-up.

It was something that was confined to the bedroom for a long time, a part of the foreplay. The first time Peter asked him to wear a pair of panties under his clothes when he took him out for a nice dinner, Stiles went bright red and Peter thought he was going to choke on his own tongue.

“It’s not sexual,” Peter assured him. “And I have no intention of humiliating you. No one will know but the two of us. I certainly intend to make no reference. I just think that it’s nice to dress up for a date and you look so gorgeous in them. You like the way they feel, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said reluctantly.

“Then give me a good reason why you shouldn’t wear them,” Peter said. “If you give me one I’ll accept it, no questions asked.”

Stiles was silent. He went over to the drawer, looking through his lingerie stash. “Leave the room. I want it to be as surprise when we get home.”

Peter smiled, slow and satisfied. “Does that mean I’m getting lucky?”

“You’re always lucky,” Stiles told him. “You have me.”

There was no way Peter could argue with that. Stiles was extra affectionate all night, holding onto Peter’s arm and wanting to be close to him. There was a hint of insecurity in his actions, he still felt self-conscious knowing what was beneath his clothes, but mostly it was just the shared connection between them. He was wearing them for Peter, he knew they looked good, and he knew exactly what reaction he was going to get from Peter at the end of the night.

It wasn’t long after that that he managed to convince Stiles to keep some lingerie at his own place so that he didn’t have to get changed once he got to Peter’s. He wears it whenever Peter asks and sometimes when he doesn’t. Peter honestly can’t believe he has this perfect boy all to himself.

He trails a hand down, finding the bump of the garter belt clasp against Stiles’ thigh, nestled under his chinos. He plays with it, tracing where the top of the stocking must sit, Stiles giving a little sigh as he shifts on his feet. He really went all out today. Gifts are such a lovely incentive. It’s why Peter spoils him so much. They both get the benefit in the end.

Peter goes back to Stiles’ waistband, hooking his fingers into it and tugging forward, nearly pulling Stiles right over. Stiles plants his feet firmly though. When Peter wants him in his lap, he’ll let him know. Until then, he stands still to accept his attention. Peter peers into his waistband. Silk panties. He dips a finger down to feel the fabric, just a hint of wiry pubic hair escaping from the top.

He follows the waistband around, sliding his hand into the back of Stiles’ chinos, feeling his bare ass. As he explores though he can feel the strip of lace that disappears between Stiles’ asscheeks. He hooks it with his thumb, giving a little tug, letting Stiles feel it move against his hole. He gives a tiny little whimper, cheeks coloured pink, but he doesn’t move. Such a good boy.

“Good choice,” Peter says. “These are going to go perfectly with the gift I bought you.”

Stiles parts his lips but he doesn’t ask. He knows better than that.

Peter pulls his hand out, following the lines of Stiles’ body as he trails his fingers around to the front, pushing up under his T-shirt. He smiles when his suspicions are confirmed. He’s wearing the matching bralette. Peter doesn’t look, not yet. Instead he runs his fingers over the lace strap that goes around Stiles’ middle before moving upwards with both hands, thumbs rubbing over the silk triangles, feelings Stiles’ nipples harden beneath. When a tiny little moan catches in his throat, Peter moves one hand up to play with the intricate straps that hold everything in place.

As he finally pulls his hands away, righting Stiles’ clothes, he sits back on the couch, gazing up at him. “Okay,” he says. “You can come and say hello.”

Stiles moves, straddling Peter’s lap without question, pressing their foreheads together. Peter breathes him in, the affection and the arousal and the anticipation. Beneath it all though, there’s contentment. Stiles would be a brat if this was all he got, but he’d still be happy to be here. That fact alone means Peter has no intention of leaving him hanging.

He touches the side of Stiles’ face softly, with reverence, guiding him in for a kiss. Stiles’ jaw goes slack but he’s not passive. He slides his tongue against Peter’s, tilts his head to get a deeper angle, grips hold of Peter’s shirt and the back of his neck. He’ll give Peter everything, loves being led, but he chases his own enjoyment just as much. Peter has never been attracted to doormats. Stiles knows his own mind and that fact makes his choice to submit all the sweeter.

When they part, Peter rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ cheek, Stiles smiles at him.

“Hi.”

“Hello, there, sweet thing,” Peter returns. “Do you want your gift now?”

Stiles’ eyes flick over to the box that has not so subtly been sitting beside Peter on the couch this whole time. “Yes, please.”

Peter reaches over, picking it up and presenting it to Stiles who is practically bouncing in his lap from excitement. The boy loves his gifts. Peter loves picking them out for him. He’s never had somebody to spoil before. He’s forever grateful that Stiles allows him this.

Stiles doesn’t take the box out of Peter’s hands, just lifts the lid up, his eyes going wide as his mouth opens in something like awe. “Are you serious?” He reaches into the box and pulls out the lightsaber styled flogger, inspecting the work on the handle. “Where did you even get this?”

“I had it commissioned,” Peter says, not even trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. “Just for my baby.”

Stiles grins at him, his eyes lighting up. “I have the best Daddy.”

“You really do,” Peter agrees. “But only because you’re the best baby.”

Stiles’ eyes fall down, an expression on his face that looks so touched and vulnerable. He leans in, placing a chaste kiss against Peter’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my darling,” Peter says. He places the box aside and then takes the flogger from Stiles’ hands, fanning out the strands over his palm. “This is deer skin. It’s soft, great for beginners, it’s all about the thud, not the sting,” he explains.

Stiles nods his head, looking studiously at the flogger. Peter can feel the want and apprehension coming off him in waves. They’ve tried spanking, over the knee open hand, and Stiles literally couldn’t get enough. More recently Peter bought a paddle and as soon as Peter started warming him up with it in that first session, Stiles was in complete agreement that they were moving in the right direction. This feels like a natural progression but he’s not going to take anything for granted. He’s only offering the possibility. That’s all he’s ever done. Stiles is the one who gets to decide.

Stiles reaches out, running the strands through his fingers. “Soft,” he says gently.

“I know how tactile you are,” Peter says. Stiles can’t get enough of silk and satin and fur. It’s oh so easy to drown him in sensation and endlessly rewarding.

“I want to try it,” Stiles says, determination in his voice. He looks up at Peter. “Start gentle?”

“Of course, baby,” Peter purrs. “I’m not going to break what’s mine.” He changes his grip on the flogger so that he’s brandishing it by the handle. “Let’s get you down to that lingerie and we can begin.”

Stiles stands, waiting for Peter to direct him. Peter takes him by the hand, leading him over to the dining area. He places the flogger down on the table and then turns to appraise Stiles.

“Shoes and shirt,” he says. “Let me do the rest.”

Stiles nods, shrugging his shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. Peter gives him a long-suffering look, picking it up and putting it over one of the chairs. The boy should really be more housebroken by now but sometimes Peter gets the impression that he just wants to give him something to do, something to correct. Peter needs to feel needed. Stiles likes to need him as much as possible.

He watches as Stiles toes off his sneakers, placing them aside, picking up on Peter’s cues. Peter can already see a hint of the stockings on his feet, sheer black, shiny, delectable. He holds out a hand in invitation.

“Come to me.”

Stiles does as he’s told, coming to stand in front of him. His T-shirt is from the new Avengers movie. Peter knows because he bought it for him. And because he took him to see it. And because he let him talk about it all the way home until he finally pushed him down to his knees and fucked his mouth. Once he got Stiles off and they were snuggled on the couch, he let Stiles keep talking about it though. He loves listening to anything Stiles cares about.

“Lift up for me,” he instructs, Stiles raising his hands up in the air as Peter takes hold of the hem, pulling the material upwards. It’s like unwrapping a Christmas present every time.

Even though Peter knows exactly what’s underneath, seeing it is something else entirely. The bralette is snug, the black material a contrast to Stiles’ pale skin. There’s no cups, it’s not pretending to be anything it’s not, the silk just sits against his skin, the lace and straps adding texture, complimenting his strong body.

Peter reaches out, placing his hand on Stiles’ waist. “You are utterly gorgeous,” he says. “Simply magnificent.”

Stiles give a self-deprecating smile but he looks down at himself too. “I think this is my favourite set,” he says, reaching up a hand to smooth out the straps.

“It is stunning on you,” Peter agrees. “When we’re done here we could do some shopping though. See if we can find something you love even more.”

Stiles looks up at him, amusement playing over his face. “You can’t get through a day without constantly trying to one-up yourself, can you?”

“I strive for perfection,” Peter says. “But if you’d rather I save my money…”

“I’d like a new set,” Stiles says eagerly. “Thank you.”

Peter smiles at him. “It would be my pleasure.” He shifts back, looking down at the lace peeking out of the top of Stiles’ chinos. He licks his lips. His boy couldn’t be more delicious.

Reaching down, he pops open the button, pulling down his zipper. As the fabric parts, Peter gets a better look at what’s beneath. He loves the reveal, the ordinary clothes with the lingerie beneath, like a secret. He wants to savour it. His cock gives a little throb and he can smell Stiles, his arousal, all those lovely pheromones and chemosignals. He could just eat him up. He bites down on his lip, giving a growl.

Stiles reaches out, grazing the back of Peter’s hand with his fingers, snapping him out of it. He’s signalling his impatience. He wants to play with his new toy. Peter wants to play with it as well. He grabs the waistband of Stiles’ pants, sinking down to the floor and taking them with him. Stiles steadies himself on Peter’s shoulders, freeing one foot and then the other as Peter guides him.

When Peter steps back to look at Stiles in all his glory, he feels all of the air pushed out of him. The garter belt sits on his hips, lace against skin, the straps tight against his body as they run down over panties and then skin, hooking onto the lace tops of his stockings. The shimmer on the black accentuates his legs, hugging every curve of thigh and calf. There’s that tempting gap between the bottom of the garter belt and the top of his panties, that little hint of pubic hair that can’t be contained. They shaved it once and Stiles looked so pretty but they both prefer it like this. Peter doesn’t want to diminish his masculinity. He wants to celebrate it. Nothing highlights it more than silk and lace. His panties are pulled taut over his half-hard cock, showing all the lines of his bulge, and Peter wants to bite it. Then he wants to kiss it better.

“You must be a siren,” he says under his breath.

Stiles snorts a laugh. “I’d have killed you by now if I was.”

Peter looks up, meeting his gaze, and Stiles fall instantly serious. Peter tosses his pants onto the chair along with the rest of his clothes, moving forward. Stiles bows his head, waiting. Peter nuzzles at his neck, scenting him, making his claim. He intends to do it all night long until everyone knows who he belongs to. He leans forward, reaching behind Stiles to pick up the flogger from the table. Their bodies brush together and Stiles smiles. Peter steps back.

“I want you bent at the waist, forearms braced on the table, feet shoulder width apart.”

Stiles nods, turning around and doing as he’s told. His ass looks like perfection beneath that garter belt, framed by the straps. It looks like a peach. Peter runs his tongue over his teeth. He looks at the lace between his ass cheeks, tantalisingly covering his hole that should be on display from this angle. Peter has no problem leaving a little bit to the imagination though. It makes it all the more sweet later.

Peter runs the strands of the flogger through his hand, making Stiles wait just a few moments longer. Teaching him patience is a lost cause, but he knows just how much to push it to get him focussed on exactly what Peter might do next and nothing else. He catches him in the moment and then he lets it play out, knowing he’s dragging Stiles along with him. His attention isn’t easy to hold but Peter has picked up a few tricks along the way. It makes him beam with pride that he can soothe such a flighty soul.

He moves forward, making his footsteps deliberate on the wooden floor. He wants Stiles to hear him, to know, to anticipate. Stiles doesn’t move but the air in the room changes. Peter reaches over, dragging the soft strands of the flogger from the back of Stiles’ neck right down his spine and over his bare ass, letting it tickle between his legs. Stiles arches his back with a moan, bowing down his head. It angles his ass up in the air like he’s begging for it. He basically is. Patience is a virtue though.

Peter trails the flogger back up, making Stiles shudder and whimper, his body shaking, but he stays just how Peter put him. He’s got excellent discipline. He’ll stay like this all night if Peter doesn’t tell him to move. Peter knows. He’s gone to grab himself a beer before now, leaving Stiles in some compromising position, watching from across the room. He never moves except for tiny shifts necessitated by comfort or balance, never looks around, never demands attention or asks for reassurance. He waits. Peter has taught him well and there’s always wonderful positive reinforcement when he’s a good boy. Peter knows it’s more than that though. A single immediate task frees up Stiles’ mind from all the tumbling thoughts that usually plague him. Serving Peter allows him to be free.

“Okay,” Peter says, lifting the flogger away. “I’m going to start slow. Let me know if you need to stop.”

Stiles nods his head, adjusting himself to plant his feet more firmly. “Okay.”

Peter pulls the flogger back and lands it gently on Stiles’ ass. It barely makes a noise, just a small swish against his flesh, more a caress than a hit. Stiles makes a little noise, his body beginning to relax.

“Soft,” he says.

“Soft,” Peter agrees, swinging the flogger again with a tiny bit more force.

He gets into a rhythm, watching Stiles’ body carefully for cues, waiting a few beats in between each hit to give him chance to react, to settle, to want more. Each time he swings the flogger he puts a little more force into it, watching as the flesh of Stiles’ ass starts to turn pink like a blush. Peter can see the sweat building on his body, the way he starts to lean into his arms that are bracing him like he wants to fold. There’s soft moans falling from his lips and Peter bets the front of those silk panties are damp with precome.

He hits him again, flicking his wrist, watching the red strands fray out over his flesh. He wants them to be the same colour. He wants to feel the heat of it when he fucks him. He wants Stiles not to be able to have a single other thought in his head. Stiles’ moans turn to cries, but Peter can tell it’s more pleasure than pain. He’s at the point of being overwhelmed, that critical moment where he quits or submits. Peter knows there’s still a chance he’ll walk away. There’s always a chance. Peter is good at reading the signs, of pulling him back when his mind is taking him down a bad path or his body can’t take as much as he wants it to, but at the end of the day, it’s up to Stiles whether he sees it through. Peter can guide him, keep him safe once he slips under, but Stiles has to let go and sometimes things are just a little too heavy to let him.

Peter can see him going though. With every impact his body goes more fluid, taking on that familiar pliant nature. The scent of contentment overpowers the confused mixed bag of emotions he always emits, bliss rounding out the chemosignals, mixing with the lust and want. Peter has him, he can tell. He makes the next impact sharper, Stiles making the most beautiful sound as the red strands curve around his ass. It’s getting deeper in colour and Peter is itching to touch but he doesn’t want to break off. He doesn’t want to stop now that they’ve found their stride.

The blows come faster and harder as Stiles loses himself to it, building up the intensity until he can see Stiles’ legs begin to shake. He’s possibly regretting the stockings as he tries to stand steady on the hardwood floor. Peter’s not. He loves that line that runs up the back of his legs like an invitation. He brings down the flogger again, the noise Stiles makes exquisite.

He’s getting close, Peter can tell. Peter could push him through it, really drive him out of his mind, but he’s probably not getting laid then, Stiles won’t be in any fit state, regardless of the fact that he’d let Peter do literally anything to him. In that moment, he’d let anyone do anything. That’s why it’s best that they only play here, where Peter can keep him safe and guide him through. Stiles doesn’t need that tonight though. That’s for rough days, for mornings after nightmares to drive the demons away. Stiles came here happy, came here for his gift. Peter is happy to give it to him, but he wants to give him so much more than that.

He lands the flogger again, Stiles’ flesh turning scarlet. “You’re getting three more,” Peter says, voice firm and steady. “Count them for me.” He brings the flogger down, watching Stiles’ back arch as he lets out a sob.

“One,” he says, voice wrecked.

Peter strikes him harder, putting his weight into it. He could do it with so much more strength but he has enough control not to. He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, he just wants to make sure he feels it, and keeps feeling it for a while after.

“Two,” Stiles says shakily.

Peter pulls his arm back and lands a final blow, watching the meat of Stiles’ ass reverberate with it. He chokes out a sound, his mouth open and his whole body shuddering. He bows his head back down, shaking, but Peter doesn’t go to him yet. Stiles is the one who finishes this. He takes a few wet sounding breaths before he finally says the word.

“Three.”

It’s soft but it’s there and that’s all Peter needs. He leans over him, Stiles whimpering as the front of his pants brushes against his raw ass, but he doesn’t try to get away.

“You’re a good boy,” Peter praises, his mouth against Stiles’ ear. Stiles moans, practically vibrating. “You’re such a good boy. What hole do you want my cock in?”

“My ass,” Stiles says, the words uneven but certain. Modulating his voice is a skill he doesn’t possess right now but he knows his own mind. Peter always makes sure of that. He can trust his answer.

He shifts back, reaching onto one of the chairs that are pushed under the table. He stashed the lube there earlier. This was a distinct possibility. He slicks up a couple of fingers, reaching down with his other hand to pull the lace of Stiles’ thong out of the way. Stiles curves his spine with a little noise, offering himself up.

Stiles’ whole body is full of give, Peter’s finger sinking easily into him. He works him for a few moments, spreading the lube deep before adding another finger. Stiles starts to move against him, rocking his hips without even realising it, making soft little sounds. Peter could do this for hours, sometimes he does, but he’s impatient. He’s been staring so intently at this ass all night. He wants it.

He pulls out his fingers, stepping back to get his pants open. Stiles whines at the loss. Peter knows this should feel undignified, pants around his ankles, T-shirt still on, as he shuffles between Stiles’ still spread feet, but every bit of focus he has is on Stiles, this sweet boy in front of him, this boy who lets him take him apart and play with him, who pays him back with his clever brain and his soft affections. This boy who he doesn’t think he remembers how to live without.

He lines up his cock, rubbing Stiles’ hip soothingly, flesh and soft lace under his fingers. Stiles keens as he feels the blunt head of his cock against his hole, pushing back against him, and Peter slides inside, Stiles’ body dragging him in. He rocks deeper until he’s buried deep, his hips against Stiles’ burning ass. Stiles moans at the sensation and Peter stills, letting them both get used to it. Peter feels like he’s on fire, Stiles’ flesh searing him, but nothing in the world could make him move away.

He only starts to thrust when Stiles makes a broken, pleading noise, his hips stuttering back against him. Peter pulls almost all the way out, teasing him by hovering there for a moment before he pushes back in deep. His hips connect firmly with Stiles’ sore ass, making him cry out, making Peter moan in response. He reaches a hand down, feeling the heat searing from Stiles’ flesh. Peter has done a lovely, thorough job.

He pulls back again, making sure every firm thrust slaps his hips against Stiles’ ass. It’s just like with the flogging, building and building until the sound of skin smacking against skin fills the room like one of their spanking sessions but the pained, pleasure-soaked noises that Stiles makes are even more beautiful. Peter thinks he could come from that sound alone. He can tell from the way Stiles is clenching around him, his body taut and his hands curled into fists, that he’s close to the edge too. Peter reaches down, squeezing his cock through the silk panties. Stiles feels like he almost jumps out of his skin.

“Beautiful boys get to come in silk,” Peter murmurs in his ear, massaging his cock. “Show me how much you like your panties. Come in them for me. Make a lovely mess.”

Stiles makes a strangled noise, fucking back onto Peter’s cock harder. He tips his head back and Peter leans in, pressing his open mouth against the side of his neck. He can feel the blood thrumming under his skin, grazes his teeth over the vein, and Stiles comes with a broken moan, cock twitching against Peter’s palm as his come soaks into the fabric. Peter growls as the scent of it floods his nostrils, making his hips snap forward. Nothing smells better than his baby’s arousal, of the scent of him so utterly lost to it. He comes with his face still buried in Stiles’ neck, drowning in him, cock nestled as deep in his body as it will go.

He stays there, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ body to hold him close, taking his weight. He can feel Stiles’ breaths evening out as his own cock goes soft inside him. Stiles makes a little noise, giving the subtlest wiggle with his hips, but Peter gets the hint. He untangles himself from Stiles, letting him take his own weight, and then he holds his hips, rubbing soothing little circles with his thumbs as he eases his cock out. Stiles whines.

“I know,” Peter says gently, leaning in to place a kiss between his shoulder blades. He trails his hand over the garter belt. “You want to get all this off now?”

Stiles nods his head. “Please.”

Peter moves back, righting his own pants first before turning his attention to Stiles. He starts with the bralette first, unhooking it at the back and then slipping the straps down his arms. He stands him up to get it the rest of the way off, turning him around to face him, and Stiles looks so sleepy and blissed out. Peter wants nothing more than to hold him. He reaches down to unclip the garter from the stockings, unfastening the back of the belt so that he can slip it off. He drops to his knees, rolling one of the stockings down Stiles’ leg, Stiles lifting his foot to let him remove it. He repeats the motion with the other one until Stiles is stood there in just his panties, a wet patch soaked into the silk. Peter looks at it hungrily, giving a deep inhale.

“You’re a gross little wolf,” Stiles says, words slightly slurred.

Peter growls, looking up at him. “I’m a very big wolf.” He reaches around, squeezing Stiles’ ass hard, making a shudder go through him. “Aren’t I?”

“Very big wolf,” Stiles agrees, his eyes shining with affection and amusement.

Peter smiles at him, slipping down the panties and finally freeing his cock. Stiles makes a little noise of relief as Peter finally tosses them aside. He gets to his feet and Stiles sways forward, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck and resting heavily against him. Peter is more than happy to go with it. He holds him close, hands soothing up and down his back.

“Do you want your shirt?” Peter offers. He already knows from experience that he won’t want his pants.

“No,” Stiles says, still pressed against him. “I want yours.”

Peter pulls back, raising an eyebrow at him. “You want to literally take the shirt off my back?”

“It’s soft,” Stiles says, running a hand over it.

Peter gives a huff, pushing Stiles back to give himself some space. He pulls his T-shirt off, turning it around and helping Stiles to put it on. The deep V looks good on him. Maybe Peter should buy him some of his own. He lifts his gaze to Stiles’ face.

“Couch or bed?”

“Couch,” Stiles says. “I’m not sleepy.”

“Liar,” Peter responds but he walks over to the couch with him, pulling the blanket off the back to lie it over the cushions. He’s not letting Stiles get come and lube all over his upholstery.

Stiles settles himself on his stomach and immediately reaches for the TV control. He loads up Netflix as Peter goes through to the bedroom to retrieve the aloe lotion. Stiles’ human body requires aftercare for impact sessions where a wolf would already be healed but Peter likes the ritual. He likes taking care of him.

Stiles is already watching whatever true crime series he’s currently working his way through by the time Peter returns. He sits on the floor by the side of the couch, tentatively touching the heated flesh while he inspects it. No broken skin. There’s a few welts rising up in the redness but they should fade.

Peter squeezes some lotion into his palm and rubs his hands together before placing them over Stiles’ ass. Stiles hisses as the coolness hits his heated flesh but it sounds mostly like relief. He’s going to be sore for the rest of the evening but Peter knows he likes that. He enjoys the sensations, like echoes of what they shared, and he especially likes being waited on. He knows Peter won’t make him move until he takes him into the shower later, washing him carefully before drying him off and leading him to bed. Sometimes they fuck, slow and soft and vanilla, Stiles still sore but always wanting. It’s the most intimate thing they do.

Stiles makes a contented noise as Peter finishes up, his ass red and glistening and utterly delectable. It takes all of Peter’s self-control not to give it a slap. He gets to his feet, collecting Stiles’ underwear up and taking it through to the bathroom to hand wash it in the sink. He takes great care with the delicate material, getting all the sweat and lube and come out of it before hanging it up to dry.

By the time he returns to Stiles, his eyelids are heavy but he’s still determinately trying to watch his show. “Feet,” Peter says as he approaches, grabbing the lotion from the table on his way.

Stiles bends his knees, lifting his feet up into the air to allow Peter to sit on the other end of the couch. Once he’s settled, Stiles lets his legs fall back down again, feet landing in Peter’s lap. Peter squeezes out some of the lotion, picking up one of Stiles’ feet and starting to massage it. Stiles gives a gentle little moan, wriggling his toes in response.

Peter works the lotion in, rubbing his thumbs over the soles of Stiles’ feet, feeling the give through his entire body. He watches the screen, the gory recreations, and he can’t help giving Stiles an incredulous look.

“People think I’m a psychopath,” Peter says. “I don’t watch this kind of grotesqueness for fun.”

“It’s not for fun,” Stiles dismisses. “This is educational.”

“You are a troubled soul,” Peter says.

“Also, no one things you’re a psychopath anymore,” Stiles says. “I tell them too many nice things about you.”

Peter squeezes his foot. “Stop that immediately.”

Stiles looks at him over his shoulder, giving him that beautiful winning smile. Peter places his foot down and squeezes out a little more lotion, starting to work on the other one.

“Did you like your gift?” he prompts.

“It was amazing,” Stiles gushes. “It felt really good. I thought it would be sharper but you’re right, it’s a duller sensation because of the softness. I think I like it more than the paddle.”

“Noted,” Peter says. “The force is strong with this one.”

Stiles turns to give him a look. “I’ll kick you in the face.”

“Then who would buy you pretty things?” Peter asks.

Stiles seems to consider this for a moment. “Okay,” he finally says, pulling a cushion to put under his head. “You can live. For now.”

“You’re too kind to me, sweetheart,” Peter says dryly.

Stiles squeezes and releases his toes and it feels like a message. “Thank you, Daddy,” he says softly, the words almost not there, but Peter can hear them, can feel the sincerity.

“You’re welcome, baby,” Peter says, squeezing his foot in reassurance. “Always.”

Stiles nods his head in acceptance, focussing on his show.


End file.
